


The Princess and the Blacksmith

by ISeeFire



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action, Adventure, Angst, Drama, F/M, Fairy Tale Elements, Female Bilbo, Female Bilbo/Fili - Freeform, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-01-21
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/pseuds/ISeeFire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Bilba Baggins understands the expectations placed upon her. She knows that, upon reaching her majority, she will be expected to enter into an arranged marriage, one that will most benefit the future stability and security of the Shire. She understands this, though it saddens her to think she will have to leave the Shire, possibly forever, when this day arrives. Still, it is her duty and obligation as a Princess and, to that end, she will accept it. </p><p>Or, at least that's how she felt until the day she went walking and met Hobbiton's new blacksmith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Princess and the Blacksmith

**Author's Note:**

> Ta-dah! My one year anniversary celebration one shot! :D One thing I have learned is, when I do this again, I should make sure to give myself enough time to comfortably do it! A MAJOR thank you to Drenagon who beta'd the entire thing in a ridiculously short amount of time even though it was my own fault for not giving myself enough time and dropping it on her at the last minute before I intended to post it. She is awesome and puts up with much from me! :D
> 
> You guys all had awesome prompts. Many for HB and D3 are ones you'll already be seeing in the story itself at some point. A few others were awesome ideas but I didn't think I could develop them fully in a one shot format so you may be seeing those in the future in the Drabbles story (you'll be seeing a Pirate Drabble, a Bilba/Kili Drabble and an alternate Ash & Phoenix Drabble).  
> After I get finished with D3, HB and LSL the next stories I'll be doing will be Ash & Phoenix and the Sentinel/Guide fic (tentatively titled Oak & Shield) so you'll be seeing a lot more of those! :D  
> I actually TRIED to write the HB AU where Bilba actually ends up with Kili or Fili for real. I really did but I soon found out I am apparently very emotionally attached to my fictional characters and it made me so sad!!!!  
> After that, a number of people requested a Fili/Bilba one shot so that's what I went with. Since it's a one shot (a very truncated story in other words) I though the best "medium" so to speak would be a fairy tale style/vibe. So you'll definitely be feeling that I think. In all, though, the story is mostly meant to be fun - it's not very complicated - it was intended as a short, fun, fluffy, rollicking good time and I hope it has achieved that.
> 
> SO, THANK YOU for being amazing readers and for sticking with me the past year and doing wonders for my writing confidence. Here's to the next year and even more stories! :D :D
> 
> Final Note: For the purposes of this fic Hobbits and Dwarves have the same lifespans. :)

Bilba crouched down behind a chair and listened to her Grandfather as he spoke to several of his counselors. It was boring stuff, crop reports, some noble or another complaining about some other noble or another.

She was constantly impressed by the fact any of them stayed awake during council meetings.

The group began to break up and she shifted lower, pulling into the shadows as best as she could. The last thing she wanted was for her Grandfather to see her. He’d want to know why she was dressed in a simple emerald green sundress with a matching ribbon pulling her hair into a ponytail, no jewelry or makeup.

In other words, not how a Princess of the Realm should dress.

Bilba rolled her eyes, picturing the disapproving look in his eyes and voice as though he were actually standing there staring down at her.

The corridor grew silent and she stood up, shooting a look in both directions. The large hall was silent and she darted forward, flinching as her bare feet left the thick rug and hit the cold, marble tile.

Pictures and various plants lined the hall, one wall held windows overlooking the grounds of the palace while the opposite one was filled with portraits of her ancestors in various, stuffy, formal positions and dress.

Most of them looked wildly uncomfortable in Bilba’s opinion.

She rounded a corner where the door to the council chambers stood. It was closed at the moment, the meetings over for the day. Bilba carefully pushed it open and slipped inside, closing the large oak doors behind her.

Her Grandfather’s large chair dominated at the head of the table, the chairs of the rest of the Council far smaller and less ostentatious. Bilba ran to it and darted under the edge of the table, pressing a small indentation in the corner of the front panel of the chair.

With a quiet grinding noise, the entire chair moved back several feet, revealing stairs leading under the floor. Bilba scrambled forward and darted down them, reaching the bottom before the chair slid smoothly back in place over her head.

The emergency escape tunnel was tight and narrow, made of dirt that she idly ground her toes into as she fumbled in the dark for one of the torches lining the wall. Finding one she lifted if off its bracket, found the flint hanging off the end and soon had it lit.

She moved forward quickly after that, shivering in the damp tunnels. She finally reached the end, the tunnel appearing to end in a blank wall. She placed the torch in an empty holder and blew it out before carefully putting her hands on the wall and pushing.

It swung outward, revealing a small storeroom beyond.

Bilba let out a small sigh of relief and stepped out. The place was silent; no sound other than her own footsteps as she walked out into empty halls and quiet rooms.

Bag End had been her mother’s home, before she’d met the Crown Prince and married him, moving into the palace soon after. She’d wanted to keep her home and had successfully petitioned for it to be added to the palace’s labyrinth of escape tunnels for the royal family. Bilba knew her mother had planned to regularly visit Bag End, perhaps even spend summers there but duties had gotten in the way, and then Bilba’s siblings had begun to be born, and time had simply slipped away. Her mother, as far as she knew, hadn’t been to Bag End in nearly a decade.

Bilba, however, came frequently. Often she would simply spend the day in the house, enjoying the peace and quiet. One of the perks of being the youngest of six children was there was little she was expected to do and few people looked for her. The one or two times someone had asked about her whereabouts when she’d returned she’d simply claimed to have been in her room.

No one had questioned her yet.

This particular day, Bilba didn’t feel like staying in. She grabbed one of the books she stored in the living room, picked up a small basket and headed to the front door. She’d stop in the market to get something for lunch and then go read on the pier overlooking the lake.

She snuck out one of the side doors that led out the back of the hill and walked around to the front. It was a beautiful day and she sighed in bliss as a warm breeze ran lightly over her. The sound of birds called from the trees and, in the near distance, she could see the water of the lake glittering in the afternoon light. A number of hobbits she passed greeted her and she politely nodded to them in return. She was careful not to talk too much to them. For the few she did speak too she had a ready story, that she was from one of the outlying villages, Buckland, but preferred the marketplace in Hobbiton and often made day trips.

Every so often she’d get an odd look as though someone was trying to place her but, so far, no one ever had. She wasn’t dressed as the Princess after all, not surrounded by a group of guards. For many, the trappings of her station were all they saw, particularly for her, given she was the youngest and often overlooked. It served her well as it meant she could walk about as herself and not have to worry about being recognized.

“Morning, Rosie,” a passing hobbit said and Bilba nodded in return.

The fact she didn’t use her real name was probably a help as well, she thought with a sliver of guilt.

The market was full as usual and she wandered among the booths slowly, picking through the various wares as she put together a sizable lunch. Fish, bread, fruit, even pastries all went into her basket until it was full and she was nearly salivating at the thought of sitting down to eat it all.

It was as she was picking out a second pastry for dessert, because they were small after all and she was simply helping her local economy, that she noticed the commotion. A woman, a few years younger than her, rushed past followed soon by another and another still after her.

It was when the fourth girl, this one about her own age, started to hurry past that Bilba caught her arm and said, “What’s going on?”

The girl grinned at her, her face flushed. “There’s a new blacksmith working at the forge!”

Bilba frowned in confusion. “So?” Mentally she called up the image of the last several blacksmiths who’d worked at the small forge in the town. They usually didn’t stay long. The forge was always staffed by dwarves, as hobbits were utterly useless with such things. The dwarves in turn, however, usually weren’t happy in the Shire for long so they would rotate through. Most of them came from the Blue Mountains on their way to other locations. They would stop in the Shire for a time to gain some extra money before heading off into the larger world.

The last several had been older dwarves with poor attitudes, angry at their lot in life and unhappy with being forced to work in so menial a location.

The girl rolled her eyes. “So,” she said, “this one is gorgeous!”

And with that she pulled away from Bilba and took off in the direction of the forge.

Bilba stared after her, chewing on her lower lip. It didn’t particularly matter to her one way or the other if there was a new blacksmith or what he looked like. No doubt he was much older anyway, probably with a wife and brood of children. She deliberately turned away from where the forges were located, facing toward the lake.

The poor dwarf was probably simply a few years younger, unusual for those who bothered to come through the Shire, and, as such, was a sight for the girls who were used to seeing older, grumpier dwarves.

She turned her head toward the forges, chewing on her lower lip. She was not some lily-livered, empty headed girl for goodness sake. She was a Princess of the Shire and was certainly not going to go gawk at some poor dwarf just trying to earn an honest living.

The woman selling pastries, an older hobbit with white hair and a kind face, smiled at her. “You know,” she said casually, “I do believe I saw some rather beautiful bluebells growing up on the hill behind the forges. You should see them before they wither.”

Bilba blinked and then slowly smiled. “Why, thank you Miss Cotton. I do believe I will go see them after all.”

With that she turned and headed toward the forges.

After all, there were bluebells. Who wouldn’t want to see those?

 

***

 

There were a half dozen or more hobbit lasses gathered about the outer gates of the forge when she approached, all twittering among themselves and leaning to peek around the gates before shrieking and ducking back again.

Bilba put her head up and prepared to walk right past them, completely disinterested of course, toward the hill just beyond the forge where, even then, she could see a patch of blue.

“Alright now,” a voice boomed suddenly, startling her. “That’s enough. Off you all go.”

A tall, broad shouldered dwarf was standing in the gate entrance. He was certainly younger than the previous smiths but nowhere near the age of the girls who’d been gawking inside. He was bald on the top of his head, with tattoos inked on the skin and had heavy, metal knuckledusters on both hands.

Bilba raised an eyebrow. That was who they had all been interested in? He was good looking enough but far to old for any of the young women clustered about the entrance.

As she watched, the girls all groaned in disappointment, their shoulders slumping as they turned to walk away. Bilba shifted to one side of the road as they passed. The dwarf glowered after them for a moment before shaking his head and turning back inside, grumbling to himself as he did.

He paid her no mind so Bilba continued on her way, mentally chiding herself on having allowed her curiosity to get the better of her. It had cut into the time she’d have available to sit on the dock and, for what, to see a young grumpy dwarf instead of an old grumpy one?

She was passing the gate and, as she did, it occurred to her suddenly that she was still hearing the ring of metal hitting metal. A sound she had been hearing, she realized now, even when the other dwarf had been standing in the gate.

Idly she turned her head to look inside and promptly froze.

The dwarf currently standing at the outside forge, hammering some piece of farm equipment or another, was about as much like the previous blacksmiths as an apple was to an orange.

He was young, her age if she had to guess, with hair the color of the sun that shone under its light as though one brightened the other. He wore it to just below his shoulders, the front portions sectioned off into braids capped with metal beads. His beard and mustache were also shorter than what she was used to seeing, though the mustache had been grown out and was braided in a similar fashion to his hair.

He was not currently wearing a shirt and was…he was…she shook her head slightly, mesmerized by the play of his muscles as he swung the hammer. The temperature of the day combined with the heat of the forge had raised a sheen of sweat on his skin which, odd as it sounded, only seemed to make him stand out even more.

His brow was creased with concentration and his eyes, which were a pale blue, were…um…staring right at her…..

Bilba jerked; her entire face on fire at being caught so openly gawking. She turned around sharply, planning to sprint, if necessary, all the way back to the palace where she would promptly retire to her bedroom and die of embarrassment.

Unfortunately for her, her natural clumsiness decided to assert itself right at that very moment. As she turned, her foot managed to act out its long awaited vengeance on her other foot, tripping her quite effectively. Before she knew it the ground was rushing at her with impressive speed. She barely managed to throw her hands out in time, wincing at the bark of pain as they hit the ground.

Her basket struck a second later and she let out a short cry of dismay as her beautifully crafted lunch went flying in multiple directions, most of it in the dirt because of course that’s where it went.

For a second she sat and studied the ruins of her lunch with a sigh. She hadn’t considered the notion that she might drop the entire thing and, as such, hadn’t brought enough money to buy a replacement.

She took a deep breath and reached out to grab the basket and right it. There was nothing to be gained from sitting and feeling sorry for herself. She grabbed an apple and put it back in, turned to grab something else, and paused as she found her book being held out to her by none other than the dwarf she’d just been openly ogling.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Bilba felt her face heat again. “My ego and pride have doubtless suffered mortal wounds but the rest of me is fine.”

He grinned and Bilba scowled, reaching out to snatch the book. “Don’t look so happy. This is all your fault you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“You should be wearing a shirt!” Bilba blurted, then flushed and ducked her head, shoving the book back into her basket. “Honestly, what is wrong with you?”

“It’s a forge and it’s hot.” he grumbled, reaching to grab more of her things and help her return them to the basket.

“So wear a thinner shirt!” Bilba found the remnants of her two pastries and stared at them forlornly.

“I don’t have a thinner one,” the dwarf muttered. “I came from the Blue Mountains. It’s colder up there than it is here.”

“Well, that’s not my fault,” Bilba groused.

“It’s not mine either!” he shot back.

Bilba sighed and moved to get her feet under her and stand up. He stood first and held both hands out. Bilba set her basket down and took his hands, using them to pull up to her feet. As soon as she did he released her and retrieved her basket, handing it to her.

“I’m sorry about your lunch.”

“I am, too,” Bilba said sadly. “I was really looking forward to it.”

He frowned. “Tell you what. I haven’t eaten my lunch yet. I’ll share it with you, since it was my fault you dropped it and all.” He seemed rather amused at the last part.

“Oh, no,” Bilba said, feeling a rush of shame. Here she was acting like a fool over food she could easily replace forcing him into feeling like he had to offer the little bit he had. “It’s quite alright. I can go get more.”

His eyes narrowed. “I can spare it,” he said, his voice slightly tense. “But if you’d rather not--”

Wonderful, Bilba thought, now she’d gone and insulted him.

She took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said, straightening, “Could we start over again, please?” She held a hand out. “Hi, I’m Rosie Bracegirdle from Buckland.”

To her surprise, instead of shaking her hand, he lightly took her fingers, put his other arm behind his back, bent over and lightly pressed his lips to her knuckles.

It was very possible her face would simply burst into flame at some point.

Straightening, he grinned at her and said, “Pleased to meet you Rosie.” He gave a polite half bow. “Farin, son of Dwalin.” He stumbled slightly as he said it, his eyes going over his shoulder to the forge. “My father is the blacksmith,” he explained. “I’m just his apprentice.”

As if summoned the other dwarf appeared in the gate again. “Planning to work again anytime soon or do you think the orders will be kind enough to fill themselves?”

Bilba frowned. “He doesn’t really look like you.”

“So, I’m told,” Farin said. “Wait here a second, would you?”

He spun on one heel and headed toward his father. Bilba hung back as the two spoke rapidly in the language of the dwarves. She had no idea what they were saying but Farin’s father shot her an amused look and then said something to Farin, a clear warning in his tone.

Farin answered, annoyed, then strode past him and vanished into the forge. He was back a moment later, a knapsack in one hand and, thankfully, wearing a shirt. His father rolled his eyes and headed back inside as Farin approached her.

“Alright,” he looked past her and indicated the hill she’d been heading toward initially. “Want to sit over there?”

Bilba sighed and gave in. “Alright, but I’ll owe you lunch. I don’t want people to think I just go around stealing lunches from poor innocent blacksmiths.”

He smiled broadly. “I’d argue, but since I’m getting a second lunch with you out of the deal I think I’ll just shut up and accept it.”

Bilba struggled, and failed, to hide her own smile.

He offered an arm dramatically and she took it with a laugh, allowing him to lead her to the small hill. The forge was located on the outskirts of Hobbiton meaning, without his admirers, the area was deserted.

Bilba carefully avoided the flowers and settled near the top of the hill, Farin sitting next to her.

“So,” Farin said as he carefully laid out his meal. “Buckland? You come here often?”

“Almost every day.” Bilba replied.

Farin raised an eyebrow. “Your family doesn’t miss you?”

As he spoke he handed her more than half the sandwich he’d packed. Bilba gave him an exasperated look but took it. “I’m the youngest of six children. They rarely notice when I’m gone.”

He frowned. “Sounds lonely.”

Bilba shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She really didn’t, usually. She was left to her own devices, not required to constantly be bowing and scraping to foreign dignitaries. “What about you?”

“One little brother.” Farin’s eyes shone with clear pride as he spoke only to shutter with concern as he continued. “He’s on a trip with my uncle right now.”

“Why didn’t you go?” Bilba asked.

“It’s complicated,” Farin responded and Bilba nodded, letting it go. She was a stranger after all. She didn’t want to pry.

“They went to Dale,” Farin said suddenly, his jaw tightening. “My brother’s never been there before. I haven’t either.”

Bilba grimaced. Dale stood at the foot of the kingdom of Erebor, once the crown jewel of the dwarven kingdoms. It had been unbelievably rich from the gems and gold mined from it, had enjoyed prosperous trade relations with every power, and had a massive, solidly trained army. Given the location within a heavily fortified mountain it had been assumed the mountain was impenetrable.

And it was, until Smaug came. The human was ruler over a small land in a waste within the ancient Kingdom of Mordor. He had always been a recluse, shunning contact with the outside world and being generally ignored by them in turn.

They might not have ignored him had they realized he was a powerful wizard, capable of shapeshifting into the form of a monstrous dragon.

The attack had taken Erebor completely by surprise, and it had been devastating. Smaug had slaughtered the royal family and most of the guard before simply squatting in the throne room and declaring himself the new ruler. The surviving dwarves either fled or, having no other recourse, were forced to stay under the rule of their new sovereign.

Bilba suppressed a shiver at the thought of Smaug. After the fall the other kingdoms had been faced with no other choice but to appease him or risk the wrath of his dragon form falling upon them. Once there might have been some who could have challenged him. The White Council of Middle Earth comprised of wizards and high elves that, together, stood in protection over all of Arda. They had vanished, though, sometime before Smaug’s attack. No one knew where, or why, and the races were left abandoned by their passing.

Bilba’s grandfather, in an effort to not appear as though he were rejecting the new, very powerful, monarch had begun issuing invitations to Smaug every year when one of her siblings, or her, had a birthday celebration. He’d ignored them all until, for reasons she still didn’t understand, he’d suddenly shown up at her oldest sister’s tenth celebration. Bilba had been six at the time. She’d been scared of him then, and every year after.

She’d be forced to see him again at the end of the summer when she turned eighteen. She was not looking forward to it.

She glanced sideways at Farin, who was idly eating an apple and studying the palace off in the distance. There were rumors from time to time that argued not all of the royal family of Erebor had died. Those who believed them pointed to how quickly the exiles had banded together and formed the Blue Mountain colony, as though they’d had a leader they instantly looked to and trusted. Currently the colony was ruled by a Council put together after the fall but, for many, the rumors persisted that it was only a front and the real power lay in a surviving member of the Ereborean monarchy. She could ask Farin, she supposed, but highly doubted he would tell her.

“Why would your brother or uncle want to go to Dale?” she asked now. “What’s there that they can’t get here?”

He blinked, clearly trying to recall what they’d been talking about. “Oh,” he said, “I think my uncle just wanted to see Erebor again, even from the outside.” He studied her, his blue eyes oddly intense. “He used to live there, a long time ago. He misses it.”

Bilba nodded and settled back to eat.

They passed lunch in relative silence, though it didn’t feel awkward or strange. Rather it was companionable, like two close friends spending time together.

After everything was gone, Bilba helped him pack it up and stood up with a sigh of resignation.

Farin gave her a slightly self-deprecating look. “That relieved to be rid of me?”

“Hardly,” Bilba replied, “Not looking forward to going back is all. It’s simpler out here.” She smiled at him. “And I enjoy the company more as well.”

He ducked his head, embarrassed before saying, “I agree. Your company is far preferable to my father’s, any day.”

He bid her farewell after that, heading to the forges while Bilba returned to Bag End. She disposed of the ruined food she’d dropped, returned the basket and the unread book and headed into the tunnels leading back to the palace.

And if later that night her mother made a comment on the silly grin Bilba couldn’t seem to get off her face, well, that was no one’s business was it?

 

***

 

Two weeks passed before she was able to slip away again.

This time she carried a small gift. She’d made it quickly and then spent the rest of her time worrying over whether or not she should actually give it to him or just forget about the whole thing.

The day she could finally get away was another beautiful one so she wore a sundress again, a deep purple this time, and a large sun hat. She picked up the small package she’d hidden under her bed and shoved it in a large pocket on the skirt of the dress before heading out.

Once she arrived at Bag End she retrieved her basket and headed to the market where she got the same meal she’d had before, only doubled. She really hoped she wasn’t making a fool of herself. Farin had seemed happy enough but what if he’d just been putting up with her? Only sharing his lunch out of a sense of obligation? What if he got annoyed seeing her again?

Bilba chewed on her lower lip as she packed the last of her purchases into her basket, her gut churning. Part of her wanted to run right back to the palace and never set foot outside again.

The other part informed her quite primly that she was a fool. Farin was nice and she simply wanted to be his friend. He’d split his lunch with her and she was only returning the favor. It was as simple as that.

She took a deep breath and headed toward the forges.

The fact the front gates weren’t swarming with young girls should have been her first tip off but, then again, it was always possible his father had chased them away.

It was only as she walked through that Bilba realized there was no heat radiating out from the ovens, no sound of metal striking metal.

The forge was silent.

Bilba chided herself. Farin and his father worked at the forges but it didn’t mean they were there every second of every day.

With a sigh she told herself was not disappointment, Bilba walked in through the front door of the forge. The building was larger than she’d expected, filled with neatly organized tools and equipment. A door in the back led to the rooms holding the forges she believed. There was another door set in the left wall but she didn’t know what was through there.

Bilba hesitated and then pulled the little package from her pocket. She set it on the low table and then, after a moment, picked up a quill and inkpot sitting nearby and grabbed a sheet of parchment from a stack near the ink. She quickly wrote out a note, signed her false name with a flourish, folded it and set it on the packet.

Then, before she could change her mind, she turned her back on the small bundle and marched out, heading toward the lake and pier.

She’d stop by Bag End again and retrieve her book, she decided.

The basket weighed on her arm and she looked at it in sadness. Perhaps she’d see if she could hand some of it out after she was done.

It was downright shameful to waste food after all.

 

***

 

A short time later, Bilba was curled in a chair on the end of the dock, feet tucked under her, one hand holding her book while a half-eaten sandwich rested forgotten in her lap. She was far enough from the market that she couldn’t hear anything but the quiet sound of the waves lapping against the wood. A cool breeze from the water kept her from getting too hot and her hat provided the perfect amount of shade by which to read

So engrossed was she in her book that Bilba never heard the light sound of boots on the wooden planks until a large shadow fell over her.

Bilba lifted her head and felt her eyes widen slightly at the sight of Farin standing over her. He held up the letter she’d left, raising an eyebrow as he did.

“In an effort to avoid future tragedies? Really?” He sounded amused, or at least Bilba thought he did. She decided to take it as a good sign and smiled up at him.

“My ego and pride, remember? I’m afraid they tragically did not survive their wounds.” She waved a hand airily and then pressed her book to her lips as though holding back tears. “The funeral was yesterday. It was quite moving. I’d have invited you but…well…seeing as how it was your fault I thought it might not be appropriate.”

Farin appeared to be trying very, very, hard not to laugh.

With a start, Bilba suddenly realized he was actually wearing the shirt she’d made him. She put the sandwich and book down and leapt up with a shriek that startled him, though he quickly recovered.

“Oh, it fits!” Bilba grabbed the sleeves of the thin shirt she’d put together, pulling them out and checking the fit. It wasn’t an elaborate shirt. He’d be working in a forge with it after all, just light and simple and something that would hopefully prevent innocent young girls like her from hopelessly humiliating themselves in the future. “I hoped it would! I had to guess on the measurements after all.”

“It does,” Farin said. He tugged on the hem self-consciously, embarrassed. “You didn’t have to--”

“I did,” Bilba cut in. “I feel it’s everyone’s duty to protect their community. I’m only doing my part to protect the ego and pride of other young women in the Shire.”

Pulling away, she grabbed another chair left on the dock for people to relax in and dragged it over. “Can you stay? I bought lunch to repay you but then you were gone so now I have far too much. It’ll only go to waste if you leave.”

She was babbling like an idiot and managed, barely, to shut up before she made it worse.

Farin nodded, sitting down in the chair. “I can. My father and I went on a trip to Bree for supplies but I came back early. I don’t have anything to do until he returns.”

“Oh, good.” Bilba grabbed the basket and dragged it forward. “In that case, dig in. There’s plenty.”

He did, his eyes widening at the sight of the amount of food. “This is far more than I had. I’ll be right back to owing you again.”

“If you like,” Bilba blurted. He looked up at her in surprise and she felt heat race into her face. “I mean,” she stammered, “well – just – what I _meant_ is you eat lunch and I eat lunch – and well – I mean I don’t expect you to – and sometimes you won’t be here – and I might not either so there’s no obligation – and I certainly don’t mean anything by it – just that--” Her mouth finally had mercy on her and allowed her to trail off into silence. She huffed in annoyance. “See what I mean? If it weren’t for you my ego and pride would still be alive and would have prevented that entire mess from happening.”

Farin was staring hard at the sandwich in his hand, literally biting back laughter. He looked up at her, his eyes shining. “If you’re asking if I’d like to have lunch with you again then the answer is yes. I would. It’s been rather boring with just me and my father. It’ll be nice to have a friend to look forward to.”

Bilba grinned in relief. “I agree. I usually just sit here by myself. It’ll be nice to have someone to look forward to seeing.”

Farin nodded and, with that, they both settled in to enjoy their lunch and discuss absolutely nothing of any particular importance.

It was, all in all, a perfect day.

 

***

 

As promised, they did have lunch again, and again, and again after that. Before Bilba knew it, she had gone from sneaking out once or twice a week to going out nearly every day to have lunch with Farin.

He was always waiting for her, his father in the background looking exasperated.

They’d eat on the dock or the hill behind the forge. Sometimes, if his father was gone and Farin could take more time, they’d walk in the hills or forests past Hobbiton and find a place to eat there.

The girls who’d gathered daily around the forge slowly dispersed, many with parting glares at Bilba. She rolled her eyes at it. She and Farin were just friends. He wasn’t interested in her and she couldn’t be interested in him.

If, as the months passed, this thought began to create a dull ache of pain in her heart, well……...

They spoke of everything and nothing, at the same time. There was little that Bilba could tell him without risking giving away her identity and Farin insisted his life was far from exciting, just a normal day to day existence in the Blue Mountain with his parents, uncle and brother.

As time went on and her birthday began to loom on the horizon, Bilba began to feel a chill settle over her, beyond the one brought about by the slowly waning summer.

One day she arrived to find Farin waiting for her with a giant basket and an even larger grin on his face. His father was there, scowling as always, so Bilba was surprised when Farin suggested a walk into the woods.

At her questioning look he shrugged and said, “I managed to convince him to give me the afternoon off. You ready?”

Bilba nodded, giving a slightly forced smile in return. She hadn’t been sleeping well of late and had started wearing a little makeup when she left, attempting to cover the bags under her eyes and pale cast to her skin.

Farin took her hand, something he’d started doing recently, and they headed off.

The day was peaceful, much like the one so many months ago when she’d first met Farin. She was wearing a wrap over her dress that day to compete with the slight bite in the air and the leaves were beginning to change slowly from green to fall colors but, aside from that, much was the same.

They reached their favorite clearing, alongside a small stream. There was a loose collection of boulders, several flat and perfect for sitting out on and enjoying lunch.

Farin was quiet as he set out the food he’d brought. Usually Bilba would help him but, this time, she simply sat and watched.

When he was done he handed her a sandwich and picked his own up. Focusing on it instead of her, he cleared his throat and said, “So, do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?” Bilba asked.

Farin looked up with a frown, his gaze oddly intense. “Whatever it is that’s keeping you up at night.”

“Ah,” Bilba looked away. “Makeup not working as well as I thought then?”

“You look tired,” Farin agreed, “and you’ve lost weight. You barely smile anymore.”

Bilba grimaced. Here she thought she’d been doing such a good job of hiding it too. She sighed, one hand idly picking at her sandwich. “My birthday is coming up.”

He frowned. “And that’s a bad thing?”

She shrugged. “In the Shire the age of majority is twenty-one. When you turn eighteen, however, suitors can start offering for you. I--” She sighed. “It’s just something I’d been ignoring a long time but, soon, I won’t be able to.”

Farin had gone still, though she could see his fingers digging into his legs. “Offer for you? What do you mean?”

“I’m not my family's heir,” Bilba explained, “or even the second in line. That makes me, expendable to an extent, if you will. My sisters are already gone, married off to families in other lands to strenghthen our family’s alliances. The same will happen to me once I’m of age.”

“A political arranged marriage,” Farin said, his voice flat. “You’re a noble then?” At her surprised look he said, “Marriages like that usually don’t happen among commoners. Even if they do it’s usually based on an expected match, not on what commodities one can bring with the marriage.”

“Commodity,” Bilba said, her voice bitter. “That’s a good description. I’m a commodity of sorts, destined to strengthen my family’s power and fortune.”

Farin’s jawline was tight, his fingers now clenching his legs so hard the knuckles were white. “Do you fear a poor match?”

“No,” Bilba said, “my parents won’t allow it. They’ll ensure it’s a good match as best they can.” She knew that much. Her grandfather had originally intended for her father to marry a Princess from Rohan. He’d refused when he’d met Belladonna, Bilba’s mother, marrying her instead. Bilba’s grandfather had been angry, claiming the marriage brought nothing to the throne and, additionally, damaged their relationship with Rohan. Since then he’d been even harder on setting up advantageous marriages with Bilba’s siblings. He wasn’t a monster though. He allowed her parents to have a say and, so far, all her siblings who had been matched were at least content with their spouses.

“It won’t be love,” she explained, “not like what I’ve seen others have.” Not like what she’d seen her own parents have. “And it’ll be far away. My sisters live hundreds of miles from the Shire, cut off from their family and friends, surrounded by strangers and a spouse they didn’t choose. I read the letters they send and they seem content but also…” She took a deep breath, fighting back the sudden burning behind her eyes. “They also seem so very lonely,” she finished. “I don’t want that. I don’t want to be lonely. I don’t want to leave the Shire.”

_I don’t want to leave you._

The words flashed unbidden through her mind and she flinched. Try as she might, her heart had stubbornly insisted on creating a place for him inside it and she could now see she was rapidly approaching the point where removing him from that spot would be difficult, if not outright impossible, and certainly painful.

Exceptionally painful.

She turned away, quietly cursing her heart for adding to her grief.

She heard him moving. Arms slid around her waist and he pulled her back until she was resting against his chest.

“You said you have three years?” he asked.

Bilba frowned. She’d expected him to say he was sorry or, perhaps, say nothing at all. “Yes,” she answered, “My parents will give me the offers they’ve approved and I will choose one. I can choose before my 21st birthday if I wish but the marriage won’t happen before then.”

“Would you?” His voice sounded odd, strained. “Choose before your 21st birthday?”

Bilba sighed, her eyes fixed on the stream running past them. “No.”

Farin breathed out sharply and squeezed her for a moment before releasing her and going back to his spot. He picked up her skin of water, handed it to her, and then raised his own. He touched it to hers like a toast and said, “In that case, here’s to a better candidate arriving by then.”

Bilba forced a smile, ignoring the pain in her heart. “To a better candidate,” she agreed.

He nodded and settled back. “Three years.”

For some reason, coming from him, it sounded like a promise.

 

***

 

The guests started to arrive for her birthday a few weeks later.

Being the youngest of six usually meant her celebrations were relatively sparse in terms of guests. This year, however, there would be hundreds. Every noble from every kingdom with an eligible son would be there to catch a glimpse and decide if they wanted to make an offer for her hand once she reached her majority.

As night fell Bilba found herself seated stiffly in front of her vanity as her mother worked on her hair. Instead of the comfortable sundresses she liked to wear she now had on a stiff dress so heavy she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be able to walk in it. The skirt was slashed to reveal the underskirt and, under that, were several more layers to give the overall dress the proper full look. She wore long gloves up past her elbows, a diamond necklace and matching bracelet and more makeup than she felt someone should wear in a year much less a single night.

She watched her mother in the mirror as the other woman carefully straightened and arranged the curls she’d spent all day working to achieve, artfully pinning them up in such a way as to hold Bilba’s tiara on without it being obvious that’s what was happening.

Bilba had never liked her tiara. It was too small, pinching her temples and giving her a headache and, at the same time, was far too heavy which usually resulted in a neck ache as well.

She met her mother’s eyes in the mirror and looked away.

Belladonna sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Bilba responded. She knew her mother held a lot of guilt over how strict Bilba’s grandfather was about ensuring future royal marriages had political gain. To be honest, Bilba held no animosity toward her grandfather. He did ensure the marriages were at least tolerable. He would never approve a match that would leave Bilba at risk of harm.

And she understood the need for it as well. The Shire, after all, was the smallest of the Kingdoms of Middle Earth and, being as peaceful as it was, held little in the way of defense. Once they’d had a defender. Gandalf the White, a member of the White Council and personal guardian to the Shire. He was long, long gone though. In his absence, the only way to ensure their way of life and protection for their people was by allying with larger and stronger Kingdoms and the best way to do that was through marriage.

But knowing all that didn’t make her feel any less a commodity or lessen the pain of knowing she’d have to leave the Shire to marry a stranger who probably wouldn’t give her a second glance after the wedding.

It would be a lonely existence. It was likely her future husband wouldn’t want the expense of allowing her to make future visits to the Shire meaning it was possible that, once married, she’d never see it or her parents again.

Or Farin.

Her throat clogged at the thought and she clenched her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm lest she start crying and ruin her makeup.

“Bilba.” Her mother moved around to sit on the edge of the desk and grabbed her hands. “You still have three years, Sweetheart. Tonight isn’t the end.”

“I know,” Bilba said, her voice wavering. “It’s just--”

It _was_ the end, her mind supplied. After tonight she’d be expected to start traveling to visit her potential future spouses. Her summers would be spent in other Kingdoms, seeing who she matched with and what that match could bring to the Shire. She wouldn’t be able to spend time in the market any longer, wouldn’t be able to eat lunch with Farin or spend time with him.

Belladonna sighed. “You love him, don’t you?”

Bilba looked up sharply, confused. “What?”

Belladonna gave her a dry look. “You’re the only daughter I have left at home. Did you think I wouldn’t notice when you started vanishing every day at lunch?” She pursed her lips. “When I found out you were visiting that boy I considered putting a stop to it, to spare you the pain. I could see where it was heading even if you didn’t.” She stood back up. “In the end, though, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. You looked so happy.”

Bilba stood up as well, facing her mother. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance--”

She cut off as her mother shook her head, her own eyes red rimmed. “No, honey. Your grandfather barely allowed my marriage and my family was well off. He’d never allow you to marry a blacksmith, you know that.”

Bilba nodded, looking down at her clasped hands. She’d known and, really, even had there been a chance who was to say Farin would want her? He didn’t even know who she really was and, to marry her he’d have to leave his home and settle with her in the Shire.

No, she thought dully, it never would have worked out.

Now if only she could convince her heart of that.

 

***

 

Bilba ran.

She heard her mother’s voice behind her but ignored it, putting on speed as she rounded a corner.

Sobs caught in her throat as she slammed into the doors leading into the council chamber. They burst open and she stumbled through, racing to the tunnel and through it.

She barely paused in Bag End, gathering her skirts in her hands and flying out the front door.

It was raining, thick sheets of ice cold rain that drenched her immediately. The mud under foot was thick and gloppy. She slid on it and crashed to her hands and knees. Pain rocketed through her knees and sliced into her hands.

She sagged forward, clasping her hands and resting her forehead on them. She was shaking so hard her body felt locked. She tried to pray but words wouldn’t come, just harsh, gut wrenching sobs.

She struggled to her feet, mud and water dragging on her skirts and weighing them down. Her hair had fallen from its careful style, her tiara vanished somewhere along her frantic run away from the ballroom.

She staggered on, through the market and up to where the forge lay dark and quiet.

She lurched through the front door and collapsed in the back corner, behind the counter. Drawing her legs up, she wrapped her arms around them, buried her face and sobbed. After a few moments she pulled her arms up and dug them into her hair, dragging on the wet strands and rocking back and forth, her entire body shuddering with cold and the force of her cries.

Dimly she heard the sound of a door opening.

Someone was talking to her, calling her name.

Shakily, Bilba lifted her head, and found herself looking straight into the worried eyes of Farin.

“Rosie?” he said. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Bilba stared at him a few seconds and then, with a cry, launched herself into his arms. He grabbed her back instantly, both arms sliding around her in a strong grip. He stood up, pulling her with him and bent slightly. She felt an arm slide under her legs and then he was swinging her up into his arms, skirts, mud, water and all as though she weighed nothing.

She clung to him as he turned and carried her through the small door at the side of the building, the door she’d noticed the first time she’d come but had never thought to wonder much about.

Through it she caught a glimpse of two small beds, a table and a fireplace with a fire lit in it.

Farin set her on her feet and grabbed a thick blanket off the bed. He tried several times to get her to undress and wrap herself in the blanket, leaving the room each time but when he would check back he’d find her simply standing there, holding the blanket in one hand with a lost look.

Finally he wrapped the blanket around her, picked her up again and set in front of the fire with her in his lap.

Bilba curled into a ball, her fingers clutching his shirt. He, in turn, wrapped both arms around her, resting his cheek on the top of her head and simply rocked her, speaking to her quietly as he did.

Bilba finally cried herself into exhaustion and lay limp in his arms.

“What happened?” he asked finally. “Please, what happened?”

“I lied to you,” Bilba said, her voice dull. “I’m not who I said I was.”

He didn’t respond to that so Bilba continued. “I was sneaking out and I couldn’t let anyone know who I was so I made someone up that I could be. When I met you that’s already who I was and I couldn’t risk telling you. I never expected--”

_I never expected to fall in love with you._

She swallowed. “My name isn’t Rosie. It’s Bilba.”

She felt him twitch, the barest movement of his body. “Bilba? As in the Princess?”

“Yeah.” Bilba shifted enough to look up at him. His face was cast in an odd array of shadow, the only light coming from the fireplace. “I’m sorry.”

To her surprise, he shrugged. “It’s alright. I knew you were nobility and high enough that your family was involved in marriages arranged for political gain.” He gave a slight grin. “Also, the fact that you said it was nearing your birthday and the Princesses’ birthday was coming up may have been a bit of a giveaway.”

Bilba nodded; somehow not surprised he’d guessed who she was. She put her head against his shoulder again.

“I take it your celebration didn’t go well.”

“No,” Bilba said. “It didn’t.”

Farin cleared his throat. “I know you said you would receive offers of marriage, for when you were twenty-one. Did you receive one you didn’t want? You can just say no, though, right? You don’t have to accept it.”

“If it were anyone else,” Bilba agreed, “that would be true.”

She felt him stiffen and pressed against him. She could feel corded muscles under her hand. He was strong, very strong.

She wished he was strong enough to save her.

“Who offered?” Farin asked, his voice nearly a whisper. “Who couldn’t you refuse?”

Bilba shuddered, nausea roiling in her gut. She remembered him arriving, everyone did. Tall and gaunt, dressed in black, stolen jewels glittering on his fingers. Everyone had stopped talking to witness his arrival, even the band had forgotten to play.

He’d acted as though he’d never seen her before, like she was some new plaything that had caught his interest.

The others who’d been talking to her, potential suitors and their parents, had vanished like smoke leaving her at his mercy.

“Smaug,” she said numbly now. “Smaug offered.”

Farin stopped breathing.

“No one else will offer,” Bilba said, her voice flat. “No one else would dare.”

“Your parents,” Farin said, his voice strained. “They won’t allow it.”

“They’ll have no choice,” Bilba sat up so she could look him in the eye. “Farin, Smaug took down _Erebor_. What possible chance would we have against him?”

He stared at her, his face unreadable. He reached up a hand slowly, sliding it along her face and back into her hair. He looked into her eyes, one thumb lightly tracing a circle on her cheek.

Bilba reached her own hand up, sliding it over his where it lay on her face.

He kissed her.

It startled her at first, so much she froze. She felt him begin to tense, to pull away. Instantly she slid an arm around the back of his head and pressed forward, responding. He deepened the kiss, his free arm sliding around her waist and pulling her in closer.

“Well, well,” a smooth voice hissed, “isn’t this an unpleasant surprise.”

Bilba gave a small shriek, jumping back and scrambling to her feet.

Farin came up as well, stepping in front of her.

Smaug stood in the doorway. Behind him Bilba could see movement and recognized the red uniforms of his soldiers. He must have come after her, though how he’d found where she was she had no idea.

He studied her now, his eyes narrowed. “Consorting with vermin are we now, dear?”

Farin gave a low snarl. He started to step forward, only to stop as Bilba suddenly stepped in front of him. She backed against him, shielding him.

“He’s just a friend, Smaug. He has nothing to do with this.”

Smaug cocked his head, considering. “I must be unaware of Shire customs if that is how you greet friends.”

He looked past her, studying Farin idly. “Your neighbors report you work with another dwarf. An older one, tattooed around the head, yes? Your father? Goes by the name of Dwalin?”

Farin sneered. “What’s it to you?”

Smaug gave an evil smile. “He’s a known associate of someone I’d _very_ much like to meet. I don’t suppose you know where he is now, do you?”

Bilba felt a deep sense of horror settling over her. This was her fault. She’d run out here and Smaug had come after her. He’d apparently rousted people out of their beds, demanding to know where she might have gone and, in doing so, had learned of Farin’s father.

“I have no idea,” Farin growled. “He doesn’t tell me his business.”

“Hmmm,” Smaug made an odd hissing noise deep in his throat. “Now why don’t I believe you?”

He snapped his fingers and three of his guards entered the room. Smaug pointed almost casually at Farin.

“Take him. We’ll see if his father loves him enough to come for him.”

“No!” Bilba pressed back harder against Farin, tensing as the guards drew their blades. “He hasn’t done anything!”

“What is going on here?” Movement came from behind the guards and Belladonna appeared, shoving her way into the room.

Bilba locked her eyes on her mother. “Mother, please! They’re trying to arrest him and he hasn’t done anything!”

Smaug barely spared her a glance. “The boy may not have but his father is guilty of a number of crimes.” He gave her a languid glance. “I don’t suppose you would want me to consider you guilty of harboring a known criminal, would you?”

The threat in his voice was overt. He didn’t care what she thought one way or the other. If he wanted Farin he could take him and the Thain himself couldn’t stop him.

Before Belladonna could answer Farin was suddenly stepping around her, holding his hands up.

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice cold. “I surrender.” He didn’t appear afraid, Bilba noted, just angry.

“A wise choice,” Smaug said. “We’ll use the Shire’s dungeons until we locate the father. I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable there.”

The guards moved forward and grabbed Farin’s arms, dragging them behind his back. As they did Belladonna came over and wrapped her arms around Bilba. She clung to her mother, watching as Farin was dragged out, Smaug and his soldiers close behind.

Once they were gone, Bilba turned to her mother. “What do we do?”

Belladonna was calm; her eyes narrowed as she stared after where Smaug had disappeared. “That’s easy, Sweetheart. We get him out.”

 

***

 

Dwalin arrived two hours later.

Bilba was waiting along the road, hidden behind a tree. She’d started to lose hope, afraid he wasn’t returning that night or from that direction. At least the rain had stopped and she’d been able to go back to the palace and change into warmer clothing so she wasn’t freezing quite so much. Her mother was currently there now, trying to convince Smaug that Bilba had taken to her room with a chill, understandable, and wasn’t up to seeing visitors. Bilba meanwhile had snuck out of her room and then the palace altogether, heading to the spot she now stood waiting for Dwalin to return.

The Valar, it would seem, were with her as she finally caught sight of a small lantern moving along the road. It resolved eventually into the large dwarf and Bilba stepped out on the road to meet him.

He tensed when he saw her. “What’s wrong?”

Bilba told him in a rush, her hands clasped in front of her. Once she was done she finished with, “we can get you in but you have to get him out. The Shire can’t be seen to have helped. If Smaug finds out he’ll destroy us.”

The only reason Smaug hadn’t so far was the Shire had ties with Gondor, Rivendell, Rohan and several smaller cities and Smaug didn’t feel like putting up with them if he took the Shire. If, however, he felt they had directly acted against him not even those alliances would save them.

Dwalin grunted. “Told him he was going to get himself in trouble but does he listen? No.”

Bilba flinched, ducking her head as guilt assailed her.

Dwalin sighed. “Don’t worry about it,” he said finally. “Boy’s old enough to make his own choices. Let’s go get him.”

Bilba nodded, gazing at him like he’d just laid the world at her feet. “Ok.”

 

***

 

The sky was just starting to lighten when Bilba heard noise coming from inside the secret tunnel that led into Bag End. She jumped up from the chair she’d been waiting on and stood anxiously waiting.

Dwalin appeared a moment later. He had an arm around Farin who was bent half over, his face twisted with pain.

Bilba felt her blood run cold at the sight of the bruises on his face and body, the bloody stripes vanishing over his shoulder.

She must have made a sound as he looked up sharply, his eyes focusing on her.

“Oh, Farin,” Bilba whispered, her eyes tearing up. “I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Farin pushed off of Dwalin, straightening carefully. He then calmly strode across the floor, grabbed her in his arms and bent his head to kiss her.

Bilba wrapped her arms around his neck carefully and pushed up on her feet, pressing against him.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

Bilba shook her head. “No. I don’t think he particularly cares. I’m just a bauble to him, another pretty thing to add to his hoard.”

Farin grimaced. “Not for long. Come with us. You’ll be safe.”

Behind him, Dwalin said something sharply in the dwarven language. Farin turned and responded in the same language and, for several long minutes, the two had an intense conversation.

Farin turned to her again, his face agonized.

Bilba swallowed, struggling not to shiver. She brushed her hands over his chest. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

He kissed her again and then looked her in the eye. “I’m coming back, do you understand? Wait for me. I swear it. I’ll return.”

Bilba forced a smile. “I believe you,” she lied.

“We have to go,” Dwalin broke in. “The sun will be up soon. It’ll be harder to hide. They’ll be expecting your Princess too. She needs to get back.”

Farin nodded, letting go of her reluctantly. He stepped away and Bilba wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold.

Then Farin was bidding her farewell, Dwalin giving her a nod as he passed, and she was alone in Bag End with nothing but her own broken heart to keep her company.

 

***

 

Smaug, as expected, was not pleased to find his guards unconscious the next morning, or the report that Dwalin had apparently made his way in, rescued the prisoner and escaped.

He was even less pleased that he could find no evidence that Bilba or her family had been involved.

As it was, Bilba and her family were spared any further reprisal by Smaug receiving a raven messenger. They didn’t know what it said, but whatever it was enraged the man so much he ran out without a look back.

It was only much later that rumor reached the Shire.

War had reportedly broken out in Erebor. The exact specifics were unknown but, according to rumour, a member of the royal family of Erebor had indeed survived. This survivor, known only as Oakenshield, had somehow found a secret way inside Erebor and, over a period of months, had rallied those dwarves still living there.

When Smaug had left to go the Shire for Bilba’s birthday they had acted, overthrowing those Smaug had left behind and barricading the mountain to prevent the human wizard from re-entering.

The fighting lasted nearly a year. Back in the Shire they felt none of it, but occasionally saw its effects. Legions of troops marching from the Blue Mountains, scores more of the injured returning.

Every time Bilba would go out with her mother, offering supplies, aid, and always, always watching for a familiar flash of blond hair.

She never saw him.

In the end, much to the shock of all of Middle Earth, Smaug was defeated. Most expected him simply to shift into a dragon and raze Dale and Erebor to the ground.

To the confusion of many he did neither. Instead he withdrew, back to his kingdom in the ruins of the land called Mordor where he licked his wounds and lay in wait. He still held power in other lands but much of the fear he’d instilled dissipated.

Erebor, meanwhile, began to recover. She fortified herself, welcomed her dwarves back with open arms and welcomed trade with all who were willing, gladly offering safety and security in return. Over the course of the following year after the victory she rapidly began to rebuild herself into the Kingdom she’d once been, the pride and power of Middle Earth, her guardian in the absence of the White Council.

A peace settled over the land, uneasy, but greater than had existed in a generation.

Peace for all but Bilba.

For while fear of Smaug had indeed lessened, it still remained strong enough. Strong enough that not one single offer of marriage came in all that time.

Belladonna tried, writing letters, making visits, but the letters were unreturned, the people she went to visit absent when she arrived.

No one dared go against Smaug, especially not when he was wounded and angry.

And so her 21st birthday approached and, with it, Bilba’s increasing sense of fear and dread.

“It’ll be alright,” her mother said one morning. “Maybe he’s forgotten. We might never hear from him again.”

Bilba glanced up from her untouched plate and forced a weak smile. “Perhaps.”

She saw her mother exchange a look with her father, seated across from her, and then focus on her own food again.

Bilba sighed and looked at her plate once more, her stomach twisting at the thought of trying to eat. She and her parents were the only ones at breakfast that morning. Her brothers were off visiting friends and her grandfather was in his study.

As if summoned, the door suddenly opened and the Thain strode in, holding a letter in one hand. He was old, her grandfather, and usually walked with a stoop but today he was straight, sure and there was an odd brightness in his eyes.

“Bilba!” He announced. “Look! Look what I’ve just received!”

Bilba frowned in confusion but obediently took the letter. It was written on thick parchment, the broken seal one she didn’t recognize. She unfolded it and held it up, reading it out loud as she did.

_To the Esteemed Thain of the Shire:_

_It has come to my attention you have a granddaughter soon to be of marriageable age. My heir, Fili, is likewise of such an age and has expressed interest in a match with the Princess Bilba. Such a match, I believe, would profit both our Kingdoms. We would be able to provide you with soldiers to protect your lands and, in return, we would request help with food and agriculture. The usurper destroyed much of what we had and it will take years before the fields are fit for cultivation again._

_If the Princess is willing I will make arrangements immediately. We await your response._

_Yours,_

_Thorin_

_Son of Thrain_

_Son of Thror_

_King under the Mountain_

Belladonna let out a shriek, clapping her hands over her mouth.

Bilba simply gaped at the letter, her eyes scanning over it again, and then again.

Fili. She hadn’t realized Erebor had an heir. She’d only heard of the King. She had no idea who this Fili was or what kind of person he was.

She lifted her head to see her mother still staring at her. “Do they know about Smaug’s offer?”

“Does it matter?” her father asked gruffly. “They defeated him once. They can do it again if he tries to cause trouble.”

Bilba shook her head slowly. “They may not wish to antagonize Smaug further. It would be unfair not to tell them.”

“But Bilba,” Belladonna said, “Are you not even considering it?”

Bilba was still too stunned to have even fully registered it to be honest. She hesitated and then said, “I am considering it but I don’t want to alienate them by not being honest.” She looked at her grandfather and asked, “Is it possible to alert them to the fact Smaug has already offered and may not react well?”

Her stomach was churning as she spoke and her hand shook as she held the letter out. She might be destroying her only chance, assuming this Fili was better than Smuag, though she didn’t imagine he could be much worse.

The Thain took the letter and nodded. “I’ll have it done at once.”

“Thank you.” Bilba settled back again, staring blankly at her plate. Unbidden, an image of Farin floated to mind and she sighed.

Perhaps, she thought, this Fili might at least be kind.

He wouldn’t be Farin but, if he were kind, she could cope.

It would be enough.

 

***

 

The answer came back three days later. It was short and to the point.

_I have no fear of Smaug._

_My offer stands._

_Fili_

_Son of Dis_

_Daughter of Thrain_

_Crown Prince under the Mountain_

Bilba shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and handed the letter back to her grandfather.

“Please tell him I accept his offer.”

 

***

 

The attack came from the north two months later.

The King of Erebor had responded to her acceptance, working out the details with her grandfather. It was decided Fili would come personally to collect her. They would marry in the Shire and then have a second ceremony once they’d returned to Erebor.

Bilba was nervous but not scared as she’d been when she’d feared being married to Smaug. She’d heard nothing about Fili, good or bad, but he’d been confident in his letter and she’d heard nothing but good things about the King, which spoke, hopefully, to his heir being equally as good.

She began to go out into the Shire again, wanting to see as much of it as possible before she was forced to leave, possibly for good to Erebor.

She avoided the forge, unwilling to be reminded of the young dwarf she’d once befriended, and fallen in love with, there. She held no animosity toward him for not having returned. He had his own life as she had hers. Undoubtedly he’d quickly forgotten about her after leaving. Even if he hadn’t, however, it wouldn’t have mattered.

They never would have worked. Her grandfather wouldn’t have agreed to a match with a blacksmith, no matter how much she might have wanted it.

She would go to Erebor and marry the Crown Prince and do her absolute best to have as happy and peaceful a life as she could make it.

Perhaps Fili would allow her to bring seeds with her and plant a small garden somewhere.

The thought gave her peace and she began to travel farther into the woods, looking for cuttings of her favorite plants.

It was on one such foray that she first heard it. An odd sound coming down from the north like the beating of mighty wings that had her raising her head and standing up.

A colossal shadow shot overhead and Bilba felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. The basket she held fell to her feet and tumbled over, spilling flowers and plants across her feet.

Then she was running, stumbling over trees and roots, barely noticing the pain barking up her legs as she stumbled several times and tripped in her haste.

She burst back out of the forest and into a scene of chaos. Hobbits ran screaming, vanishing into their homes and slamming the doors as if that could possibly save them.

Bilba looked to the palace, and froze.

A massive dragon lay crouched before the front gates. Red as fire with massive leather like wings, the creature hunched low, its tail whipping back and forth.

“Princess!” The beast roared and Bilba felt her legs tremble and threaten to give out under her. “Come, Princess, or I shall roast your countrymen where they stand!”

Bilba stood frozen. She wrapped her arms around her torso, digging her fingers into her arms until she felt pinpricks of sharp pain.

Smaug, for that was who it had to be, roared and reared up. She saw his chest glow red and then he opened his mouth and a geyser of flame burst out, shooting into the sky.

“The next one will be aimed at your precious home,” he snarled.

Bilba swallowed, finding it suddenly impossible to breathe. She took a step forward, then another. She’d worn a light, cream colored dress that day that stood out sharply against the green grass of the Shire and it wasn’t long before Smaug caught sight of her.

He leapt and suddenly he was right in front of her, looming over her, so large he blocked out the sun.

“So,” he hissed, “you thought you could betray me? That I would allow one of Oakenshield’s blood more of what is mine?”

Bilba’s words were frozen in her throat. She opened her mouth but only a small whimper escaped her throat.

The dragon snarled. “Let us see,” he rattled, “just how much your _precious_ dwarf cares for you, shall we?”

A massive, clawed hand was suddenly closing around her waist. Bilba barely had a chance to scream before he was lifting off, the ground rapidly falling away from her. She caught a brief glimpse of her mother and father, running across the grass, her mother screaming for her, and then they were gone and there was nothing but trees and sky.

And Smaug.

 

***

 

It took three days to get to Erebor.

The days were ones of utter misery for Bilba. Smaug gave her nothing to eat and barely allowed her to drink from the lakes or rivers they would stop by at nightfall. Her clothing was not fit for the nights, especially as they moved farther from the temperate climate of the Shire and she would curl into a ball, shivering so hard she feared her bones would break.

Smaug didn’t speak to her and she was too scared to try and talk to him.

On the third day she saw the mountain in the distance, its spire arching up high into the sky and vanishing in the early morning fog.

Smaug flew up into it, hiding himself from view until he was nearly on top of the mountain. Then he roared and spiraled down, racing around and around the mountain in a dizzying spiral.

As he neared the bottom, Bilba felt something odd happening. The claw around her seemed to shrink, retracting and vanishing. Several feet up they vanished altogether and she found herself falling.

She hit hard, pain erupting through her arm and ribs, the breath knocked out of her. She had no time to recover as Smaug’s hand, human now, slid into her hair and yanked, dragging her to her feet. She choked back a cry of pain and then went still as the feel of a cold metal blade was suddenly at her throat.

They were standing on a low bridge that spanned a moat ringing the mountain. Before them were the gates of Erebor, enormous, closed structures bordered by statues of dwarves. At the top of the gate, Bilba caught a glimpse of dwarves running about frantically. One, young looking with dark hair appeared, a bow in his hand an arrow nocked to it.

Bilba suddenly found her body pressed against Smaug’s chest, one of his hands still in her hair, the other still holding a dagger to her throat.

“Oakenshield!” Smaug roared, his voice echoing through the small area. “Will you face me or are you too much a coward?” He wrenched her head back, the blade biting into her skin. “I have your heir’s beloved, Oakenshield," he called mockingly, "Will you come out or shall I bleed her dry on your doorstep?”

“He won’t come,” Bilba managed to gasp, “He’s never even met me. He won’t come.”

“Think you not?” Smaug’s voice was a near purr, right next to her ear.

The hand vanished from her hair and dropped to her side, where the pain from the landing was the worst. He grabbed her and dug his hand in…and the world whited out.

Bilba was dimly aware of a horrific, agonized scream reverberating about them and realized, belatedly, it was coming from her own throat.

Her body sagged but Smaug’s hand was already back in her hair, holding her up. Blackness danced at the corner of her vision and she struggled to push up, trying to take some of the pressure off her hair that felt like it was being ripped from her head.

“What do you think, young Prince?” Smaug said, his voice casual. “Will you have your Uncle come out or would you rather just listen to her scream?”

A low rumble sounded. Smaug gave a snarl of triumph and wrenched her closer to his body. Bilba bit back a cry of pain. She kept her hands at her side, afraid to grab at the arm holding the knife at her throat for fear of accidentally causing him to slip and kill her.

The giant gates began to grind open, slowly, revealing a group standing in the center. As soon as the gates were open wide enough they strode forward and she saw it was a group of dwarves, all heavily armored and carrying weapons.

The one in the center had to be the King. He was older, dark hair streaked with gray and intense blue eyes. On his left strode the dark haired dwarf she’d seen on top of the gates, still holding his bow and arrow.

On his right…on his right…

Bilba felt her entire world come to a grinding stop.

The dwarf on the King’s right was young, her own age, dressed in bright silver armor and carrying a sword. He moved with confidence, his eyes locked on her, not a trace of fear in them. Bilba’s eyes roved over him, his blond hair shining under the morning sun, the blue she knew was in his eyes even if he wasn’t close enough for her to see them.

Smaug leaned in close to her ear. “Do you understand now, Princess?”

Farin…no, Fili…made eye contact with her, a promise in them.

_I will save you._

This time, she believed him.

 

***

 

Movement on the mountain behind them drew her attention. The covering fog the rock was dense but not so dense it completely hid the vague image of shapes swarming down.

Bilba frowned, her eyes narrowing as she tried to place what it was. She felt the blade at her throat press in, the hand in her hair tighten.

The lowest line of figures broke through the fog into crystal sharp focus and she felt her eyes widen in fear.

Orcs.

Orcs. The mountain was crawling with orcs, racing toward the open gates of Erebor, and the backs of the royal family.

She shoved, backward into Smuag. Pain sliced through her neck, then the arm was gone as Smaug struggled to keep his balance.

“Fili!” She saw his eyes widen with horror. “Behind you!”

She saw his uncle react first, twisting around to look back.

Smaug snarled something. The hand in her hair wrenched and then she was flying. She slammed the ground hard.

Pain exploded through her head and she went limp, darkness rushing in.

The world faded.

 

***

 

She regained consciousness to the sound of battle and the sharp smell of blood.

She opened her eyes and blinked, the world slowly coming back into focus. She’d landed against a small shelf of rock; it rose around her creating a natural alcove.

She managed to raise her head and caught sight of a figure standing in front of her, blocking her from the rest of the battle. As she watched she saw his hand move, grabbing an arrow from a quiver on his back and letting it fly.

The other dwarf, she thought, the dark haired one she’d seen next to the King.

She must have made a sound or perhaps he sensed her eyes on him because suddenly he was kneeling next to her, his eyes still on the battle.

“Hey,” he said gently, “thank Mahal. I don’t know what Fili would have done if you’d died in front of him. All he talks about is you.” He grinned at her. “He was so afraid you’d changed your mind he couldn’t bring himself to tell you who he was. Wanted to do it in person.” He rolled his eyes. “He’s a bit of an idiot.”

His arm was under her shoulders as he spoke, helping her to a sitting position. Bilba gave a tired smile in return. “You must be the brother. He spoke about you, often.”

“That’s me,” He gave a truncated bow. “Kili, at your service. Hopefully he said good things.”

“Only the best,” Bilba agreed. “He was afraid for you.”

“Yeah,” Kili muttered, “well I wasn’t the one getting myself grabbed by Smuag was I?”

As he spoke he wrapped his arms more securely around her and carefully pulled her to her feet. Bilba staggered, grabbing his arms.

As she did she noticed for the first time he no longer had his bow or quiver on him. A glance showed both on the ground nearby, the quiver empty.

Kili was speaking to her, something about Erebor, but it was hard to concentrate. Her head was throbbing and her side was on fire. She felt nauseated and was sure if she’d eaten anything the last three days she’d be currently losing it all.

Kili turned and she grabbed ahold of the shirt at his waist, leaning forward to press her head in the hollow between his shoulder blades.

“Kili?” she managed to get out. “I don’t feel good.” Her legs felt weak and she sagged, his body more or less propping hers up.

Kili was speaking to someone; she could hear a second voice. Seconds later hands were grabbing her and gently pulling her away from him. She tried to resist, afraid of losing her only shield in battle but the hands were stronger and she was exhausted.

Arms slid around her and then she was being lifted, her head falling to rest against a broad shoulder. She looked up to see blue eyes staring down at her.

“Hey, Love,” Fari – Fili said. “It’s going to be okay. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Bilba managed a smile. “Farin,” she whispered, her voice slurred. “I missed you.”

“He missed you too,” Kili said dryly. “Believe me. We made bets on if he could go an hour without mentioning your name. He lost, repeatedly.”

As he spoke he stepped in front of them, a sword he'd gotten from somewhere, probably Fili, clutched firmly in one hand.

They started moving, Kili clearing a path ahead of them. Bilba saw orcs, dwarves and, to her surprise, elves and humans all fighting in a mad press of bodies. Dale and Mirkwood were close and allied with Erebor, she remembered vaguely. They must have come to help.

A few dwarves peeled away from the fighting, closing around the two princes to guard them on their way to the gates. One was Dwalin, tired and bleeding from a cut to the head but otherwise unhurt.

As they neared the gates, Bilba finally caught sight of Smaug, locked in battle with the dark haired King under the Mountain. She watched as the two exchanged blows, the dwarven king’s body moving in lithe, graceful motions that spoke to years of training and experience.

Fili muttered something under his breath. “He better not get himself killed.”

Dwalin meanwhile was looking ahead, toward the doorway of Erebor. “About time you lot showed up,” he growled. “Any longer and there wouldn’t be anyone left to save.”

A voice weathered by age but not lacking in strength, answered. “A wizard, Master Dwarf, is never late, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”

Through the haze of pain in her mind, Bilba saw Dwalin roll his eyes.

She turned her head and caught sight of a group of people striding toward her from inside the mountain. A woman and three men, all dressed in white. One, the one in the middle, had a long beard and kind eyes. He smiled down at her as the group passed.

“Do not fear, my dear Hobbit,” he said gently. “I will return to aid you shortly.”

He looked like the pictures in the history books, Bilba thought tiredly. Gandalf the White, the protector of the Shire, member of the White Council.

“We missed you,” she whispered. She curled in tighter against Fili as she spoke, her entire body sagging in his arms.

“As did I,” the elderly voice returned. “As did I.”

She reached out as they passed and he grabbed her hand, warmth spreading up her arm as he did. Her head cleared somewhat, strength returning to her limbs. Then they were past and stone was over her head. Grabbing Fili’s shirt, Bilba managed to pull herself up and look over his shoulder. She saw one of the group, the woman, throw her hand out and a solid wall of force seemed to fly out before her. Orcs fell in her wake though the humans, dwarves and elves were left untouched.

Two of the other men held staffs while the last one was drawing a sharp, curved sword.

Then they rounded a corner, losing the battle to view and Bilba relaxed, allowing her eyes to close.

 

***

 

In the end, the armies of light were victorious against the forces of dark. The dwarven king himself dealt the final blow to Smuag, forever ending the fear he’d held over Middle Earth.

In the events after the battle, the true story of his evil began to unfold.

The ability to shapeshift was an old one, and one that required an enormous amount of power. Smaug had gotten this power by tricking and capturing the White Council. He’d lured them to his kingdom, convincing them he wished to become one of them, only to imprison them and drain their power, using it to allow himself to shift into a monstrous dragon.

After this, Smuag had taken Erebor and settled there, soon moving the White Council secretly to the dungeons in the lower levels. They were kept weakened and drugged, unable to fight back against their tormentor.

Meanwhile, the survivors of the dwarven royal family, Thorin and his sister Dis, fled to the Blue Mountains with the rest of the exiles, setting up a colony there. Thorin had created an extensive spy network that he’d cast out over Middle Earth, seeking answers. He’d known there were other powerful users of magic and these he’d questioned extensively. He’d soon found from them the truth, that Smaug could not have shifted into a dragon with his own power. Thorin had soon put together his sudden ability to do so with the disappearance of the White Council.

He’d guessed Smaug would have moved the Council to Erebor, wanting to keep them close, and had made plans to infiltrate and free them. It had been decided Fili would stay behind, an insurance policy in the event Thorin and Kili failed. Smaug was aware of Thorin's existence but had no idea that Thorin's sister had also survived, or that she'd had children. If Thorin and Kili fell, or were captured, Fili would step forward and take the role of leader in his uncle’s stead.

Their mission had been successful. They had found and freed the White Council. The members had been far too weak to help in the resulting war as Smaug had fought to regain control. As they had thought, without the powers of the White Council at his behest, he was limited to his human form.

Fili, after fleeing the Shire, had gone to Erebor and joined in the fighting, quickly making a name for himself as a capable warrior and well deserving of the title of Crown Prince.

Smaug had been defeated and driven into the wasteland of Mordor. In his wake the dwarves of Erebor had begun to rebuild and Fili had turned his attention to returning to Bilba as he’d promised.

They had underestimated Smaug, however. They had believed, truly, that his power was broken; the he would never again take them by surprise.

They hadn’t realized he possessed the Arkenstone.

The stone was a relic of a time long past, a magical artifact of incredible power. Unbeknownst to the dwarves, who’d believed it lost somewhere in the Treasury, Smuag had found it during his occupancy of the mountain and had managed to take it with him when he fled.

He’d know simply using the stone to turn into a dragon once more would not work. The dwarves had fortified themselves against such incursions, vowing to never be taken again in the same way. The only chance he would have then is to attempt to find a way inside Erebor, and fight the dwarves on the inside as he'd done before. He'd used the magic of the stone to call forth a massive army of orcs and goblins from where they usually resided underground, binding them to his will. He’d then used the last of the magic from the relic to allow himself to change into a dragon one last time, capturing Bilba and using her as a diversion to launch a surprise attack.

He had thought the sight of him in dragon form would cause fear and confusion, that no one would stand against him.

He had thought Dale and Mirkwood would forsake the dwarves, that the White Council would still be far too weak to face him.

He had been wrong, on all counts.

 

***

 

It was many, many months later that Bilba found herself on a pony crossing the border into the Shire.

Fili was seated behind her, an arm around her waist. Bilba was leaning back against him, her head resting comfortably against his shoulder. Her injuries had healed well and, once it was deemed safe, they had set out to return to the Shire.

They had married before they left, reversing their original plans of marrying in the Shire and then Erebor, so it was now as a member of the Durin royal family that she returned.

As they passed through the hedge bordering Hobbiton, Bilba straightened, one hand going to clasp her husband’s where it lay around her waist.

She’d dressed for the occasion in a deep burgundy, off the shoulder velvet gown, embroidered with gems on the hems and sleeves. She wore a small ruby and diamond necklace and her hair had been done up with a diamond studded net. She wore a small circlet that ran over her forehead and vanished back into her hair. Fili had designed it personally for her, creating a piece that clearly showed her rank but was so lightweight and fit so perfectly she barely felt it.

As Bilba watched, hobbits began to appear, lining the sides of the roads and cheering the return of their Princess. A few of them gave wide eyed looks as they recognized her from her many trips into the market. A few of the girls were also staring at Fili in shock. Dressed regally as he now was, sporting a crown of his own, there was no question as to his rank.

Ahead the castle appeared and Bilba caught sight of her parents standing anxiously out front.

Bilba immediately twisted around to look at Fili. “Help me down, please?”

He nodded and shifted his weight, helping her to slide over and dismount. Kili was on his own mount next to them and Bilba put a hand on his leg for a moment, steadying herself. She carefully maneuvered through the entourage that had escorted them, coming out finally ahead of where Dwalin sat on his pony.

Grinning once she’d made it past she soon broke into a run, flying across the lawns and grass until she could throw herself into her parent’s arms. Fili had, of course, written them immediately with news of her safety but it didn’t change the fact they hadn’t seen her, or she them, in months.

When they finally released her several long minutes later, Fili and Kili had both arrived, dismounting and approaching.

Bilba pulled back and introduced him, Kili first and then, “and this is Crown Prince Fili, my husband.”

Belladonna looked amused, clearly recognizing the young dwarf. “So, my dear,” she said, “it would appear you got your blacksmith after all.”

Bilba grinned, wrapping both arms around Fili’s waist. “I did.”

Belladonna smiled and wrapped her hands around Bilba’s arm. “Well, let’s not sit out here. We have a lot to catch up on and we have a second wedding to plan.”

Bilba nodded and together, they went inside.

 


End file.
